


Primitive 1

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MAJOR melodrama ahead! I mean it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primitive 1

## Primitive 1

by Shedoc

Still don't own them - and this piece may well get my visiting rights revoked!

Um.hi there. Could pnthdor drop me a line? (email not working. Unbeta'd, part two coming along eventually.

This is a major melodram, soap opera, angst, over the top type thing. I know it's rubbish - I wrote it that way for a change in style. Feel free not to read it!

* * *

A friend had leant him the yacht. Blair's mouth twisted wryly at that thought - friend: he precious few of those these days. After the fiasco of his dissertation friends had left him like a snake shedding it's skin. Even Jim hadn't trusted him - when those files at the PD went missing, Jim had suspected his not-even-out-of-the-Academy- partner until the real thief was caught. The Sentinel hadn't even apologised, though he'd been quick to accuse his Guide in front of a dozen people. 

Blair's friend had offered him the yacht soon afterwards. He was off on a three-year expedition and didn't want the lovely ship to sit and grow barnacles. This particular yacht had been fitted with a world-class communications rig - the owner had used it to travel around Polynesia's islands and used the comm. link to keep in touch with the Uni - among other people. 

Blair had enough IT skills to be able to work via the Internet and cover his debts. He'd accepted the use of the yacht, quietly packed after Jim went to work and left a message on Simon's answer phone. He'd mailed a letter to Jim from the corner and resigned from the Academy before selling the Volvo and catching the evening tide. No one knew where he'd gone, or what he was doing and Blair was happy with that. The way he saw it, no one would care anyway - it was only courtesy that had him informing his former roommate and future boss. 

He wasn't lonely. He had plenty of e-contacts to talk to and the work kept his agile mind sharp. The sailing allowed him to work off his hyper-kinetic energy and he called into enough different ports to let his inner anthropologist come out to play. 

Still, he had very few friends. He'd changed his e-mail accounts - sent one of the new one to Naomi, who'd yet to reply - and only spoke to a few people who'd stood by him. Only one of them was in Cascade and she didn't pass on news about the PD, so Blair was truly separate from his former life. 

He'd passed the last part-year happily, sailing to different ports, leaving America behind in favour of following the warmer weather. He'd become lean and tanned, his curly locks lightening in the constant exposure to the sun. 

Despite his failed PhD the Uni had cleared his record - not wanting to deal with the embarrassment when Blair's lawyer (also a True Friend) threatened to go public with their role in the whole fiasco. This allowed Blair to publish - his journeys gave him plenty of material to work from. It was a nice supplement to his regular income and allowed him to work on his new thesis - to be submitted at the end of his first year away from Cascade. The Uni had agreed to allow him to do this electronically and teleconference the defence. Edwards didn't want him anywhere near the campus and Blair had no driving need to go back to Cascade. 

Blair sipped his beer and watched the stars, a bitter light in his eyes that former friends would not recognise. The last nine months had allowed him to shut down the bubbly personality that he had been - at least in private. Long stretches of solitude had made him sombre in private, though he still fidgeted and jiggled. He'd started knitting to keep his hands occupied, though the finished garments were usually more in the style and size of the men and women of Major Crimes. 

Blair was mailing the finished sweaters back to Cascade with postage for his friend to redirect them to the intended recipient - thus disguising his location. He couldn't bear to be found, yet at the same time he couldn't forget the people he'd left behind either. Thus the charade with the mail - he'd hopefully put Jim off by having the packages re-mailed, and the extra scents from other people who'd handled the items would make deciphering the location difficult. 

Finishing the beer, Blair got up and went below to check his e-mail one last time. He had a big contract coming up and needed to stay on top of things. Besides, he needed to review the second chapter of his thesis tonight. 

Settling into the narrow booth the yacht's owner had dubbed the communications suite, Blair sent his signals out into the ether, checking to see who had called for him, ignoring the ever present, useless calling of his own broken heart. 

Rejected soul, mind and body by the man he loved above all other; the Sentinel he'd spent a lifetime searching and training for, the Guide forced himself to live through another night and face the dawn beyond it. 

* * *

Jim eased the door to the loft shut, preventing any noise that might wake the empty echoes of his home. His former home, in truth: since Blair had left the loft had once more become simply a place to bathe, eat and sleep. 

Jim knew that the absence of his Guide was his fault, and his alone. He'd let his ingrained fears override the instincts of the Sentinel, Ranger and Detective - who'd all known in their guts that the missing documents had nothing to do with Blair. Unfortunately, Jim was running from yet another issue he felt he couldn't cope with. With the steady approach of Blair's graduation, the Sentinel personality was becoming much stronger. The knowledge that the Shaman Guide was finally going to take his place fully at the Sentinel's side had awoken powerful feelings. Satisfaction and pride were in the top three, but at the number one spot was love. Jim had long ago dealt with the `love you like a brother' issues - had in fact come to feel comfortable with it. 

This love was something else entirely. This was the old love with added physical attraction. Jim had woken more than once with Blair in his mind and heart, lying in a puddle of cum while his body yearned for round two with the Shaman Guide beneath him, driving his cock up into Jim's body while the Sentinel roared approval. The dreams and desires were frightening - Jim had never wanted a man in that way, though he'd fucked a few in the Rangers during downtime. That had been a comrade thing - there was a context and code to fit the situation. This was missing from Jim's life now. 

The missing papers were enough of an excuse for Jim to vent his uncertainty on his partner. It wasn't until Blair finally broke and ran - driven from his home by Jim's infamous fear based responses - that Jim realised that the love and passion he felt weren't aberrations, but true desires. 

The loft turned overnight from a warm haven that housed a treasure in the energetic form of Blair Sandburg to a cold empty echoing space. Part of Jim's heart also felt cold and empty when he realised Blair was not intending to return. Not long after that his senses dulled themselves to a slightly above average level and stayed there. 

The first gift - a hand knitted sweater in a stunning mixture of deep blues made to fit Simon perfectly - had both puzzled and saddened Jim. He wondered what Blair was doing - the scents on the wool were too varied for Jim to decipher unaided - and where he was. Saddened that he'd not been the recipient of such a gift, Jim had made happy noises for Simon and wondered if his Guide ever thought of him. 

The parcel had arrived on Simon's birthday - they'd thought it a coincidence until Brown's arrived on time. The bright swirl of colours and patterns appealed to the detective; he wore it proudly at least once a week in the winter season. 

Rafe's birthday was next, a heavy cable knit in classic cream with trimmed cuffs and a v-neck that would allow the dapper detective to wear his customary collar and tie. It was summer by then, and Rafe went out to buy a special bag to store his gift in until winter. 

Rhonda received one of the woollen wraps that were quickly becoming the fashion. It was soft cashmere in the palest blue. It swirled around her body and settled into perfect folds while she exclaimed in delight. Her face was alight with happiness that made Jim's heart ache more than ever; he'd driven his precious soul mate away and deprived him of the gif of joy in Rhonda's face. Simon gave the Sentinel a knowing look, which Jim turned away from. 

The parcel for Jim's birthday went to the loft. Simon was there to watch him open it with trembling fingers. Soft, thick, moss green wool spilled into suddenly sensitive hands. The wool was knitted into random patterns, making the sweater look different from different angles. Pulling it on was like getting a warm hug from his missing Shaman Guide. Blair's scent rose about him comfortingly. 

Simon watched the Sentinel close his eyes, hug himself and mourn for the missing half of his life. In a way, he'd been relieved when Jim reported the frozen senses. Blair's departure had left the Captain afraid that his detective would lose control - becoming a danger to himself or others. 

When he thought about it, it made sense that the Sentinel would lock things down until his Guide returned or a new one was found. Right now, the second option was looking more likely. 

Jim wore the gift on Blair's birthday - only to find upon entering the bullpen that the others were all wearing his gifts as well. They got a photo taken together on Simon's digital camera and Daryl posted it over the Internet with birthday greetings; they left it up for a month and hoped their friend saw it. If he did there was no response. 

Christmas saw scarves delivered to everyone - thick and warm ribbed garments with `CPD - Major Crimes' knitted along the lengths. They were worn proudly. 

* * *

Jim contained a sigh and fidget. The Mayor's current stalker would have to be stupid to try anything at Rainer's graduation ceremonies today - where the Mayors oldest daughter was getting her bachelor's in history. The mayor had asked for Jim to head the security team at the ceremony and Jim had been unable to wriggle out of the detail. It irked him to be here - in sight of Edwards and the Dean. She looked pissed off, and the Dean kept shooting her nasty looks when he thought no one would notice. 

Jim's earpiece crackled - the cops in the car park had caught their suspect at the limo. Jim smiled in relief as the Dean got up to announce those graduating in absentia. Finally - he could tell the Mayor and go home. 

"Dr Blair Sandburg - PhD in Anthropology, with distinctions..." 

The name slapped at Jim as he edged out the door. His Shaman Guide! He'd graduated! 

"Jim, was that Hairboy?" Rafe sounded shocked too. 

"Yeah," Jim swallowed, "He's done it!" 

The responding yells from his colleagues startled Jim. Simon yanked him outside into the mass of celebrating cops. Even people outside their circle were applauding and grinning while the stalker gaped at them all. 

"Did you know?" Simon had pulled his earpiece and mike off to avoid broadcasting the question. Jim shook his head, heartsick. 

"It's ok, Jim," Simon said firmly, "He could have come back - he knows we'd have been proud." 

"We drove him away. Why would he come back?" Jim whispered. Simon turned to get everyone back to work and give him time to recover. 

Wrap up didn't take long and they went on to a bar after the detail was finished to celebrate for their friend. They spent the time swapping Blair stories. Jim realised that his friend had been working on an alternate thesis in the time they were apart and figured that also meant he'd been publishing. He made a note to subscribe to the magazines that had carried Blair's work in the past - and to get back issues so he could read previous work as well. 

If Jim's colleagues noticed his solemn face, they gave no sign of it. Simon's phone was hijacked and a wild call placed to Daryl to design and post a congratulations site on the Internet. The men and women of Major Crimes - who had all received a hand knitted garment by now - listed what they wanted to say and Daryl promised to have it up and running by nightfall. 

Jim's phone went off in the middle of all the noise. The ruckus stopped he identified the caller - this particular person was not well liked by the team. 

"He's gone, Naomi...No I don't know where he is...Yes, I know he graduated today - we were there...No, it was an accident...now listen, I may not have perfect karma, but I love him too!" 

Jim went white and looked at his colleagues. The smiled back approvingly and started to talk quietly among themselves to give him some privacy. Naomi had hung up on him, but Jim kept the phone pressed to his ear for a long moment before closing it and putting it away. 

He'd just declared himself publicly and the building was still standing. That had to be a good sign, right? 

* * *

Blair slid the looped piece of rope that he called his `third hand' over the wheel spoke and then went forward to correct the trim on the jib. Once satisfied, he ducked below to grab the sandwich he'd made at breakfast and a bottle of water before returning to the wheel to eat his lunch. The sun kissed curls blew lightly as he ate, steadily finishing food he didn't want. He was determined not to neglect his health because of a little depression. It was coming up on the second anniversary of his thesis mess - what he'd marked as the beginning of the end of his time with Jim. The gorgeous man still featured in Blair's dreams every night, sometimes merely as a lover, most often as his life mate. 

Blair sighed and put his plate and empty bottle below before coming back up to check the weather. Clouds were rapidly chasing him across the water. If there were a big storm coming he'd need to find a place to safely anchor from it. A minor storm could be weathered. 

Checking his heading and trim, Blair ducked below again to snag some charts and the radio. Up on deck he plotted his position - halfway to his intended destination, another day's sailing would see him there - then called in to the Harbour Master for the updated weather report and advice. Despite eighteen months at sea, Blair knew it was better to have a second opinion. 

The Harbour Master advised him to run for cover to a small series of atolls nearby, which would shelter him from the storm that was building. Blair made arrangements to stay in touch - the ocean was vast and he didn't fancy drowning a second time - then broke his course to run for shelter. Once he was sure that the yacht would hold course, he hurried below for wet weather gear and to batten everything down. Hatches and lockers were secured before he went back on deck. 

The wind was freshening with a vengeance, and Blair hauled the sails in, picking up speed. The water was getting rougher as the waves became capped with white horses. 

The first of the rainsqualls hit just as the atolls appeared in the horizon. By the time Blair reached them, visibility was almost zero. The charts had shown sandbanks, and Blair had plotted a course through them as best he could. He'd almost made it to his chosen anchorage when he ran aground on a sandbank. 

Rather than risking further damage to the yacht, Blair struck his sails and anchored the ship firmly. A quick inspection of the forward hold showed no damage or leaks. Blair radioed his estimated position and then battened his last hatch to wait the storm out. 

Two days later saw him firmly stuck. His attempts to come unstuck, using the yachts engine, the sails and high tide all failed. Unfortunately, a super carrier full of oil was also in trouble nearby - if her hull lost integrity the ecological impact would be disastrous. Blair had told the authorities to put the super carrier on priority as he was in no real danger or distress. They dropped him a couple of food packages and took him at his word. 

At low tide, there was enough of the sandbank exposed for Blair to walk ashore - allowing him to explore the uninhabited atoll. It was a beautiful place and Blair happily gave himself over to exploration. 

* * *

Jim looked over at the news in exasperation as the CEO defended the poor condition of his super carrier. Blair would have been spluttering indignantly at the screen by now. The usual pang that came with the thought of his departed partner stung its way through Jim. The reported was ignored for a moment as Jim imagined the loved voice telling the arrogant man off. Jim looked at the new magazine on the dining table with Blair's latest article in it, waiting to be read. His attention returned to the screen when the picture jumped to a shot of a yacht that had run aground at the same time and was stuck until the crisis was resolved. The camera zoomed in on the solitary sailor. 

"He sure picked a pretty place to run aground," the anchorman smiled, his bland face replacing the perfectly beautiful one of Blair. He'd looked up and waved at the chopper with a casual smile before jumping overboard to walk along the exposed sandbank to the shore. 

Jim shut off his dinner and called Simon. Now he knew where Blair was, nothing would keep him from his place at the other man's side. This was Jim's chance to try and apologise, to put things right between them. Simon had caught a glimpse when Daryl's excited yells had called him into the room with the TV. He counted himself lucky that Jim was in between cases and court appearances, and authorised Jim to use some of his accumulated long service leave - giving the other man three months off and knowing that if Blair rejected Jim in his turn they'd never see the detective again. 

Jim prepared the loft for a long absence hurriedly, while calling airlines and making travel plans. He packed quickly, checked the loft one more time while talking to the bank, and then left to go meet his future. 

The stewards and officials found their passenger to be a silent man, who had a tendency to stillness that was almost disquieting. He ate what was put in front of him, but refused all offers of additional comforts. He departed as silently as he'd arrived, leaving no trace of his presence. 

The authorities that Jim presented himself to had no chance either. The man was relentless and unstoppable. In the end it was safer to agree to let him parachute down from the chopper that took regular food packages out to their castaway than to refuse, and have an inexperienced sailor make his way out to the atolls alone. 

The flight crew ignored the ex-army Ranger - disapproving of the way he had bullied his passage on their flight and near `their' shipwrecked man. The crew had adopted the stranger who'd waved and smiled from beside the `thanks' he'd arranged on the beach from driftwood and fallen branches. They didn't like the idea of someone messing with him. 

Jim leapt after the food package, aiming for his Guide next to the wooden word on the beach. The rush of air seemed to unlock his senses until Jim was fully back on line, landing neatly nearby and shucking out of the harness before turning with his heart in his mouth to meet Blair's gaze. Blair was white under the tan, his eyes huge in his face. His heart was thundering along at a shocked pace. 

"Forgive me," the words slipped from Jim's mouth so easily, with none of the cataclysmic aftermath that his father had taught him to expect. Blair blinked, then looked up at the hovering chopper. He smiled to them and waved, pointing to his word and giving two thumbs up. The chopper did a figure eight in reply and left. Blair watched it out of sight, and then looked at Jim again. 

"Forgive me?" Jim begged and Blair put a hand on his lips, shaking his head. 

"Don't beg," his well-known voice was quiet, "You never have to beg me for that. I forgive you." 

Jim closed his eyes and kissed the skin against his lips in thanks. Blair jerked his hand away, then turned to the care package. He gathered in the parachute and unloaded Jim's duffle while Jim stored his own chute. Together they dragged the waterproof package to the stranded ship. 

Jim looked around curiously, spotting his own photo in a weatherproof slip, hung above the radio. One edge showed some unusual wear - Blair provided the reason as he absently ran a finger over that edge on his way past. The unconscious gesture told Jim that there was some hope for them yet. 

"Can we talk?" Jim wasn't used to being the supplicant in this situation. Blair's eyes flashed in acknowledgement. He nodded and gestured to the booth that housed the table. Jim sat and accepted the bottled water he was offered. 

"This is hard," Jim took a deep breath, "I'm so sorry for doubting you. It was my old trick - Jim feels something new; Jim takes it out on Blair. The Sentinel knew you were interested in me as a life mate, the Ranger and the Detective both knew you were a good, decent man who'd be open to spending the rest of our lives together - but Jim freaked. The whole `papers missing = Blair took them' was Jim's way of coping," the truth flowed from Jim's lips eagerly, apparent to the other man so clearly, "By the time I got my head outta my arse it was too late. I'd driven you away." 

"I'm not..." Blair trailed off, looking away, "Jim..." 

"I know you might not want to hear this - but I have to say it. I love you. I want to try and fix this - if it can be fixed - so we can spend the rest of our lives together. I want to make you happy. I just plain old want you," Jim felt tears gathering in his eyes, matching the ones in his Shaman Guide's. Their tears spilled and Jim put out a hand - wanting more, wanting to hug, to HOLD - but not pushing it. Blair brought the offered hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. Before either man could react the radio sounded off and Blair moved smoothly to answer it. 

* * *

Jim laid on the table-that-converted-to-a-bed and reflected. Blair had reassured the authorities that his new guest was welcome, then made lunch before unpacking the supplies and securing them. He'd told Jim about the tides and suggested the cop explore the atolls while Blair worked. Then the Shaman Guide had buried himself in his laptop - the familiar energy shadowing each movement. Jim had spent the afternoon and early evening tracking Blair's trails on the atoll - his newly awoken senses flexing and stretching back to their old power. He's waded back to the yacht through knee deep water, to find a towel waiting on the railing and a meal ready. They ate on deck in silence. 

Blair had offered Jim the main cabin - the only bed on the boat - but Jim had refused to evict his loved friend from his own bed. Besides, being surrounded by Blair sleep-scent would only result in a regrettable loss of control. 

They had sat outside watching the stars in silence while Blair knitted for Daryl. Jim discovered he disliked the silence - in the old days his Shaman would have been lecturing about the paronama above them - everything from history and physics to various cultural beliefs. Now he was sombre - the knitting used to put his fidgeting to a positive use. He'd left Jim on deck after a while, going to bed in silence. Jim reflected that there had been a carefully maintained physical distance - a barrier that kept them apart. Unable to bridge the gap, Jim had been unable to restart the afternoon's conversation. 

Jim extended his senses. Blair's scent and heat beckoned from the aft cabin. His heartbeat sounded, reassuring Jim that he was truly back in the loved, needed presence. It lulled him to sleep. 

Its absence woke him. The white noise from the untuned radio washed over him and he sat up with a frown, wondering when Blair had done that. There was a note next to the radio and Jim picked it up in trepidation. It wasn't signed. 

`Jim - the Blair you knew in Cascade isn't around at the moment. I've gone looking for him. When you're up, you should have a search too.' 

Jim sighed and put the note away carefully. Blair had shut down - the rejection Jim had thrown at him finally too much to bear. His Guide wanted their old rapport to return and had set the Sentinel a quest. If that was what it took for his soul mate to feel wanted - accepted - then Jim would fulfil the quest. 

Something made Jim grab a satchel before wading ashore. His senses flared into sharp focus as he hit the beach and his instincts took over, transforming him into a being closer to the jaguar spirit guide than a man. 

The Guide scent called him on even as the world around him caressed him like a lover. The input was heady, sensual, finally welcomed as it should have been at the beginning so many years ago. Through it all, the longed for being called to him, like a beacon. Jim moved fluidly, quickly over the terrain in front of him, aware of every track, spore and insect that crossed his Guide's path. On the way he scooped up an object that spoke to him, depositing it in the satchel without breaking stride until he found himself at the top of the world - where the loved one was meditating in the sunlight. He crossed to crouch at his feet until the sky-blue eyes found his own pale ones. 

"Found it," the words spilled from him without volition, his hands holding the found object up for inspection, "See? The bright flash of you intelligence, the shape of your humour, the colour of your loyalty, and here's your wisdom. The strength of you in in it and your soul too. The pathways and parts of your life..." 

* * *

Blair watched with tears in his eyes as Jim described what he saw of his Guide in a lump of white quartz. The Sentinel was crouched at his feet like a supplicant. This morning Blair had slipped away to meditate, leaving a variation of the half-joking sign he'd once stuck on his doors at the loft. Jim had taken him literally. 

The Sentinel finally came to a halt. 

"The only problem is, I don't see me," the big man twitched, drawing Blair back. He smiled and reached down, closing Jim's hands over the quartz and folding his own over the top. 

"That's because you hold my life, my heart, my soul and my strength in your hands," Blair soothed, "There's nowhere else I want them to be." 

Jim startled him with a few tears, but Blair kissed them away and got up, tenderly drawing Jim after him. Jim put the rock in his satchel carefully before taking Blair's hand and heading back to the yacht. 

Once aboard they lay together in the aft cabin, entwined upon the covers happily, holding each other close while Jim wallowed again in the living presence of Blair. After a while he dragged his face out of Blair's neck just enough to be heard. 

"Chief," Jim made sure they were eye to eye, "I love you." 

Blair's face was incandescent with joy. 

"I love you too, Jim," he kissed Jim chastely. 

"When I was looking for you this morning I wasn't in the drivers seat," Jim told him shyly, "The Sentinel and the jaguar had control. I was feral." 

"Does this bother you?" Blair was wise enough not to cloud the issue with HIS judgements. Jim shook his head. 

"It was fantastic," he enthused, "I...want to do it more! For longer!" 

Blair hesitated. He'd long suspected a `primal' personality was among the Sentinel's make-up. If this personality rejected him...the emotional backlash alone would kill him. At the same time, Jim couldn't unleash this without the Shaman Guide's approval: it was the Shaman Guide that would keep watch and care for the jaguar/primitive. The final decision was Blair's - and it wasn't really a decision. Jim wanted it so badly, Blair couldn't deny him. 

"I've got the watch, Jim," Blair smiled, "Relax into it. I'm here." 

Jim leaned up to kiss him, then lay down again and apparently went to sleep. When Blair actually heard a snore he couldn't restrain his snort of amusement. Apparently, this feral persona was tiring to maintain. Resisting the urge to just wake Jim and get it over with, Blair slipped out of the bed and went to check his email. Work beckoned it he wanted to pay the bills. 

* * *

Sentinel grumbled, lifting his head. The loved one wasn't near - was in fact Outside. Growling in discontent, Sentinel stretched and got up, padding to the ladder and climbing smoothly. The loved one was sitting in a cool place, warm colour in his hands and lap as the sun blessed him with its evening colours. 

The loved one look up, concerned, and Sentinel stopped the growl, changing the noise to a happy purr as he settled at the Shaman Guide's feet again. There was more of the colourful warmth in a bag at the loved feet and he plunged his hands in, playing with the textures, the colours unravelling and twining together in fascinating play... 

"Hey, not so deep, pussy cat," the loved voice was amused and gentle, "You're like a kitten with yarn, there - don't zone." 

Hands helplessly tangled, Sentinel purred and rubbed against the nearby legs. Gentle hands freed him and he rubbed his hand against them too, before turning his head to lick at rough, warm skin, the taste exploded in his mouth and he suckled on a knuckle eagerly, wanting more. 

"Easy kitten," the loved voice was startled. 

Sentinel released the knuckle, moving instead to bury his face in a warm lap, nuzzling and stroking his face there. He found the strongest source of heat and nuzzled there, breathing in happily. Eventually there was were there, and he sought it out while the loved one moaned - a happy passion-noise that told Sentinel his advances were welcome. 

Pushing aside the cloth barriers, Sentinel took hard heat into his mouth and suckled, then drank while the precious loved one made happy passion noises that changed to loving croons and caresses. 

Dimly, Sentinel found his own hard heat and touched it, sighing at his release. 

* * *

Blair stirred towards dawn. It didn't matter that he was stranded on a friends yacht while the authorities strove to avoid an ecological disaster miles away. 

He had his life partner with him now - together they'd be unbeatable. 

Jim stirred against him on the hard deck. 

"Shh, kitten. Rest," Blair caressed the short hair and followed Jim back to sleep. 

end 

* * *

End Primitive 1 by Shedoc: that_gal@btopenworld.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
